


Tentacles!

by okapi



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, M/M, Other, Sex Toys, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Doctor Aronnax and Captain Nemo share a squirmy predilection.PWP. Aronnax/Nemo. Aronnax/Squid/Nemo. Bestiality.





	Tentacles!

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW 2019 Corsets and Lemons kink meme: _Tentacle porn_.

I passed many hours in the library of the _Nautilus_. With so large a collection of works at my fingertips and so quiet an atmosphere, I could not resist the temptation to sink into deep states of concentrated study. I also read for pure personal pleasure, and it was during an episode of the latter that I ended up falling asleep in a comfortable armchair with a beautifully illustrated volume on cephalopods balanced open in my lap.  
  
I dreamt. The content of the dream was familiar to me, but the customary dulling shroud of distance and vagueness was not there. I saw and experienced everything with an alarming clarity and proximity.  
  
A hand on my shoulder yanked me from my reverie.  
  
Captain Nemo’s gaze was intense; his face bore an expression that I could not interpret.  
  
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor Aronnax. I thought this evening that I would collect you myself for dinner.” He then nodded to the pages of the open book and the detailed drawings they contained and asked quietly, “Is this a subject of great interest to you?”  
  
“All sea life is of great interest to me, Captain,” I answered groggily. As the fog of disorientation faded, I realised I was still in a state of half-arousal. I gripped the book tightly, holding it so as to hide the tell-tale sign of my condition.  
  
“I have had the pleasure of encountering one of these,” Nemo pointed to one of the drawings, a violet-coloured, many-tentacled creature, “in person. They are exceedingly rare, alone or in groups, but if I happen to observe any in the vicinity of the Nautilus, I shall make you aware of it.”  
  
“Please do,” I urged.  
  
After a few deep breaths, I was in control of myself and able to rise and follow him without embarrassment.

* * *

“Doctor.”  
  
I started.  
  
“It seems my lot of late to wake you,” said Nemo apologetically. He was standing by my bed. “But I thought you would not mind. It is about the animal for which you showed singular interest yesterday. There is a group outside if you care to come with me.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” I mumbled, rising and reaching for my dressing gown.  
  
Nemo led me through his bedroom to an adjoining room which was furnished much in the manner of a hotel suite, that is, more comfortable than Nemo’s own spartan sleeping quarters. An enormous wardrobe stood against the far wall. The crystal pane that served as the exterior wall was already laid bare for viewing, and an external electric light had been switched on.  
  
And there, amidst all the wondrous sea life, I saw them, the majestic creatures which so fascinated me. I moved as close as I could to the glass and simply watched.  
  
So graceful. So beautiful.  
  
How long I stood enraptured I cannot say, but it was long enough to fall into a kind of waking trance; long enough to have the memory of my dream, and its effects, revisit me.  
  
When I realised the condition which threatened, I gave a small, startled cry and pushed away from the crystal pane.  
  
“Do not distress yourself, Doctor Aronnax. I share your fondness for them.”  
  
I stared, disbelievingly. Surely his words had another, more polite, meaning. I searched for understanding in his impassive countenance.  
  
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Shall I prove it? There is at least one instrument which I neglected to show on your first tour of the Nautilus.”  
  
He went to the wardrobe, and in a few moments, I was looking at life-sized replica of the violet squid perched on a rolling stand.  
  
“Naturally, it is all of my own engineering,” said Nemo. “Come. Have a look. A touch, too. Please.”  
  
I turned and neared it with a slight irrational trepidation, so life-like did the creature appear. The enormous eye seemed to follow me as I approached.  
  
Finally, I extended a tentative hand and brushed the skin of its bulbous head.  
  
Cool. Smooth. Hard.  
  
And almost, almost, familiar.  
  
Its tentacles began to move, wriggling in a propellant manner identical to that of the creatures I’d just observed beyond the pane.  
  
“No one on the crew knows of its existence,” said Nemo. “I will give you a choice, Doctor Aronnax. You may return to your room, and we will never speak of the matter again, or you may stay and observe.”  
  
My heart was beating hard in my chest. “And just what, pray tell, will I be witness to?”  
  
Nemo tapped the base of the stand, and the creature stilled.  
  
“I have already told you that the sea provides for all of my needs. I shall give you an example. Most of the dishes that you are served for meals aboard the Nautilus are ones that you did not know in your previous land-based life, nevertheless, I trust you find them satisfying and you may, with time, develop a preference for them.”  
  
I acknowledged the logic of this with a grunt.  
  
“Appetite, Doctor Aronnax, is not the only physical need I have found cultivated, changed, and satisfied by the sea. I sense in you a kindred spirit in this respect, but I may be mistaken. That is all I will say until I have your answer.”  
  
“I should like to stay and watch,” I said firmly.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Panels slid, covering the observation windows. Low lights went up.  
  
The creature itself took on a phosphorescent quality; the tiny round suckers that decorated the undersides of its appendages glowed eerily.  
  
Nemo directed me to a chair. I sat. He went to the wardrobe and exchanged his uniform for a dressing gown. He rolled the creature to the side of the bed, bending and turning the stand. He fiddled with the base of the stand and then arranged himself on the bed in a reclining position, facing the creature.  
  
Tentacles began to wave. They also took on a shine.  
  
I leaned forward in my chair to see better.  
  
“Feel free to adjust your position for your own convenience. I only ask that you not touch the apparatus, or me, during the encounter,” said Nemo, his voice betraying a slight strain.  
  
I got to my feet and took a half step to the side.  
  
I could not say which sight I found more engaging: the writhing squid or Captain Nemo’s exposed body, laid bare as the latter was, with the sash discarded on the bed and the sides of the dressing gown drawn apart.  
  
The captain represented, I noted, as fine an example of his own species as the engineered creature did of its, and the two together made an exquisite, and intensely erotic, tableau.  
  
The tentacles oozed. The mating commenced.  
  
As I observed, I distinguished one tentacle wrapped around the base of Nemo’s penis; one stroking the shaft of his penis; two fondling his testicles; three stretching, then probing his anal cavity; four supporting his thighs; and three weaving in and out of the others and caressing thin strips of exposed skin.  
  
Most of my attention was fixed on the creature and Nemo’s lower half. When my gaze did wander, I saw Nemo’s eyes were open, but his face was contorted in undisguised ecstasy. He gave every impression of watching the proceedings as intently as I was, propped on bent elbows, looking down with eyes blown black with lust, teeth clenched, fingers clawing with white-knuckled grip at the bedclothes.  
  
The body of the creature inflated and deflated like an enormous purple lung while its bright oval eyes looked upon Nemo with a wild, almost predatory stare.  
  
Soon, I could barely see Nemo’s genitalia, covered as it was by violet ribbons, rubbing, squeezing, thrusting, wringing in well-timed choreography.  
  
Nemo’s eyes and lips suddenly pinched shut. His whole body stiffened. There followed a flurry of tentacle waving, then a wholesale abandoning of Nemo’s body by the creature.  
  
Nemo was gasping as he turned his head towards me. “Doctor Aronnax, what is your pleasure?”  
  
My own prick was hard as stone, of course. How could it not be after all I had witnessed? But I hesitated. “May I touch you now?”  
  
“You may, but if you’ll permit,” said Nemo, still panting, “I can arrange for a slight, very slight, mind you, miasma of disinhibition.”  
  
I nodded, thinking I was in danger of losing this opportunity.  
  
Nemo reached for the stand and tapped it.  
  
The creature expelled a puff of inky, violet-coloured smoke. As far as I could tell, the cloud bore no fragrance, but its effect was immediate and unmistakable.  
  
“I wish to mount you while the squid takes me,” I said gruffly, my anxiety and reticence having vanished.  
  
Nemo’s lips twitched. “Excellent,” he said as he rose. He went to the wardrobe and returned with a jar of unguent, which he tossed on the bed.  
  
I tore off my clothing and slicked my prick while Nemo dealt with the creature.  
  
Nemo crawled onto the bed on all fours, and I knelt on the bed and slotted myself behind him.  
  
“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” I breathed as I gripped Nemo’s hips and sank my prick into his hole.  
  
“Yes,” sighed Nemo when my prick was fully sheathed. “It has been a while. I’d almost forgotten.” Then he turned his head, as if to look over his shoulder. “Ready?”  
  
“Yes,” I said.  
  
I pulled out, then felt a tickling, burrowing, worming sensation between my buttocks and a singular caressing elsewhere, along my inner thigh, across my testicles, around the outside of my buttocks.  
  
How thrilled was I to be caught in the creature’s net!  
  
I spread my knees, and the finger-like appendages went to work, teasing, probing, stretching. I leaned forward, my hands grasping either side of Nemo’s lower back, as they filled me, how many I didn’t now. It seemed like a multitude.  
  
There was my deepest and most sublime fantasy made real. I looked over my shoulder and trembled at the creature, its glowing, saucer eyes now fixed on me, its soft, pliant arms extended, exploring every crevice of my body that could be reached.  
  
I was being possessed, invaded, perhaps, even colonised.  
  
I looked down.  
  
“Terribly sorry,” I muttered. I realised I’d been neglecting Nemo and my own throbbing need.  
  
“Not to worry.”  
  
As if on command, two tentacles wiggled between my legs, one wrapped round my prick and another plunged into Nemo’s hole.  
  
“None of that,” I said, and the two retreated at once. “I’ll take it from here.”  
  
In a few moments, we’d settled on the perfect rhythm, the creature's thrusting into me and my thrusting into Nemo. I found my release almost at once and was forced to bite my lower lip to stifle a loud cry.  
W  
hen I pulled out, Nemo shuffled forward and turned onto his back.  
  
“Thank you, Doctor.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain.”  
  
“The instrument is remarkable, is it not?”  
  
“Extraordinary,” I agreed.  
  
“You may find what I am going to say next incredible.”  
  
“Is there anything but the incredible on the _Nautilus_?” I teased.  
  
“I based the instrument’s design on the real animal.”  
  
“I can see that readily enough,” I said, giving the creature an approving glance. “It is just like the illustration in the book.”  
  
“I based it not just on the animal’s form, but also on its behaviour towards me.”  
  
I frowned at Nemo, speechless.  
  
“When alone,” continued Nemo. “They like to nest in sunken ships. I was about on one of my explorations of the sea floor, bedecked in full suit, exploring such a ruined vessel when one of them boldly approached me, apparently seeking to mate. It nearly divested me of my outerwear. I escaped its clutches and returned to the Nautilus but was so intrigued by its behaviour that I returned to the spot with a net and was able to bring it aboard. I kept it in a tank. I told the crew it was for study, and it was.”  
  
“But?” I prompted.  
  
We were now lying on our sides, one facing the other on the bed, our bodies clean.  
  
“We mated once a day for a fortnight.”  
  
A tiny moan escaped my lips, and my body gave a single violent shudder.  
  
“I feared for my own sanity, so I made a replica and released the animal.”  
  
I swallowed. “Captain…?”  
  
“Yes,” he answered my unspoken question. “I will seek an animal who wishes to share us.”  
  
And that is how, a month later, I came to be floating in a briny tank, my body separated from Nemo’s by only a violet, heaving lung and its many arms, which were entangled in both of us.  
  
I was more terrified and more aroused than I’d ever been in my life.  
  
I petted the creature’s bulbous head, and it squirted a small spray of violet ink in the water, which, when traces made their way into my nose and mouth, resulted in an effect similar to that of the artificial smoke. In my native French, I let loose a stream of obscenities, which would later cause me to blush with mortification.  
  
I clung to the creature’s soft flesh and to Nemo as I was sodded and frigged. The creature wrapped its tentacles around me and twisted them inside me and enveloped me in its slippery madness. It had the skill of a king’s courtesan, seeming to intuit the precise speed of stroking, depth of probing, and angle at which to curl its phosphorescent tips to shatter my poor body into thousands of mindless, quivering shards of pleasure.  
The creature seemed as lethargic as Nemo and I were afterwards. It curled into the nest that Nemo had constructed for it in the tank and gave every appearance of drifting off to sleep.  
  
I returned to the tank the next day. And the next. And the next.  
  
I confess that practise did eventually improve human stamina, if never marine; that is to say, the creature always took its leave of us after the first round, but whether emboldened by the purple ink or some other phenomena, Nemo and I began to indulge in second and even third rounds with each other in the animal’s absence. Sucking pricks, fucking holes. Pinching, fingering, wrestling, pinning, demanding, surrendering.  
  
Two weeks of hedonistic indulgence passed, and I came to acknowledge the wisdom of Nemo’s earlier choice.  
  
With mingled regret and relief, I began, “Nemo, I think…”  
  
“Yes,” he agreed.  
  
No more was said. I did not return to the tank.  
  
At the time, I assumed that, after a certain recuperative period, the captain and I would resume use of his replica, but the horrible attack of the giant squid occurred some weeks later and forever changed Captain Nemo, myself, and our shared secret.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
